


A Detective's Guide to Romance

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9696458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mrs. Hudson told Molly that there were just some things a woman needed to put her foot down on.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HBingo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HBingo/gifts).



> Thanks to R for betaing. :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Expectations were good to have in a relationship.

Molly Hooper was sure she’d read that somewhere. Expectations were an important part of communication. And communication was a good thing. Communication made or broke relationships, right?

And when your boyfriend happened to be Sherlock Holmes, well.

Well, her boyfriend was _technically_ Sherlock Holmes. She wasn’t sure if the label could really apply to someone like Sherlock. They were…together. But he certainly didn’t do boyfriend things— _not_ like that, they did that, actually, but boyfriend things like…dating. Relationship things. And she hadn’t expected that from him, not really, but…

“I think we should go out on an actual date,” Molly said.

“Hmm?”

Sherlock had barely moved in the past hour, and Molly had been working up to this. After all, she knew Sherlock wasn’t going to be a typical boyfriend. But Mrs. Hudson had told her that there were some things a woman just needed to put her foot down on.

“A date,” she said. “A real date. A first date, technically.”

He adjusted a dial.

“Sherlock.”

“We’ve already had a first date.”

Molly blinked. “What?”

They’d technically been…well, seeing each other for a month. If by seeing you meant that they took care of Rosie together, and worked at the lab, and oh—sometimes Sherlock slept over at her apartment. She really couldn’t remember any first date in between all that. But Molly was used to taking Sherlock’s word for most things that for half a second she wondered if she’d managed to completely forget—until she blinked and realized that was complete nonsense.

“Two weeks ago,” Sherlock said, not moving. “In this lab.”

Her mouth fell open. “You can’t have a date in a _lab.”_

“Why not?”

“I mean, you could, I guess…” She felt flustered. “But a date involves… _company,_ and talking about things that aren’t work, and…..and food, sometimes—“

“I seem to remember there were crisps, and conversation about them.” He said it so matter-of-factly that she could just see the equation he was probably using in his head to lay out the argument. (“IF [Crisps]; AND [Conversation]; THEN [Date].”)

“Asking me to get them for you does _not_ count as conversation.”

“I also seem to remember asking you how your day was.”

“You being a decent human being for once doesn’t mean—“ she said, sucking in a breath.

“ _And—“_ he said. “You’re forgetting entirely about that night at the Soho Theatre.”

“That was a _crime scene_.”

Sherlock finally looked up, a shadow of annoyance flickering over his features at having to divert his attention from his work. “Look, I...” He exhaled. “Perhaps it would be better if you provided me with a list of guidelines so I could better classify what would and what would not be acceptable to you.”

Molly felt her lips twitch for half a second, still angry, before she considered what he’d said. “You want me to give you…rules. Rules for dating.”

“Guidelines,” he said, going back to the microscope. “For the literal definition of what constitutes “a date” to you, Molly Hooper, since I suppose there’s room for emotional variance.” He sighed. “Case in _point.”_

She wanted to protest that there was no one on _Earth_ besides him that would consider a double murder or crisps-and-toxicological analysis a proper date. But she faltered.

His tone was brusque, but she considered that he might actually be…trying.

She’d take it.

“Well, like I said.” She kept her tone light. “We have to talk about things that aren’t work, at least a little. And…there doesn’t have to be food involved, but if it is we can’t be at the lab. And nobody should have been murdered wherever we are for at least the last…48 hours.”

“Fine.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And there has to be something at least a _little_ romantic.”

Apparently this _guideline_ was too much, because Sherlock scowled. “That time at the lab was romantic. There were….feelings.”

That might have melted her heart a little if he hadn’t said ‘romantic’ and ‘feelings’ with as much enthusiasm as he would have articulating the words ‘mayonnaise’ or ‘sweaty trainers’.

“When were there feelings?”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” he snapped. “You completed the toxicology testing I asked for in record time, and _then_ I said thank you, and _then_ I kissed you. I remember feeling very warmly toward you in that moment.”

“Because I proved your theory right about the—the fish poisonings!—and then you left immediately to go “ _rub it in Scotland Yard’s face!”_

“Tetrodotoxin poisoning, technically—“

“And technically that doesn’t count as a date,” she said, crossing her arms. “Anything where I’m playing the role of your assistant isn’t a date.”

Sherlock stared at her for a beat. “So then I owe you a second and a third date too, I suppose.”

She might actually strangle him. Molly took a deep, cleansing breath, which John had said sometimes helped, and stayed on message. “ _Yes.”_

He sighed. “Fine.”

She waited, but he went back to his analysis.

“So just to be clear—“ she said, thinking furiously, because John had _also_ suggested that when arguing with Sherlock one couldn’t fail to be overly-specific—“We’re going to go on a date, and it will be _not in this lab,_ or at least outside of work, and there will be something… _romantic.”_

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and so she crossed her arms. “Sherlock.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“I accept those parameters,” he said, retrieving the rest of the sample he’d been poring over.

“And I reserve the right to add more guidelines.”

He rolled his eyes and then brandished the sample at her. “Only if you’re able to rush the tests on this.”

She tried to hide her grin as she took it from him. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, that’s why we run _analysis_ and things called _tests,”_ he said sarcastically. She was too pleased with him—and herself, mind you—to really care about his tone. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, which made his eyes flick to her for just an instant as she straightened.

“Molly.”

She glanced back at him.

He was back to fiddling with dials and frowning, like the sample in particular had disappointed him. “The machine analysis that needs will take at least two hours.”

“There’s not much I can really do about the computers, Sherlock—“

“No,” he said quickly, before he exhaled. “I mean. You won’t be doing anything.”

“Other than my actual work, you mean?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I meant…well, I’ve seen the schematics for St. Bartholomew’s and there is a cafeteria a floor above us. We could...”

Molly blinked, and then slowly, she smiled. He noticed.

“Of course, I can’t guarantee no one’s died there outside of 48 hours. It is a hospital.”

She pretended to consider that, and Sherlock exhaled.

“But I doubt it was _in_ the cafeteria, if anyone had, terrible health code violation if—“

He was rambling, and she took mercy on him.

“It’s a date.”

Sherlock blinked, and then scowled as if disappointed with himself. "Yes."

She must have been grinning at him, because he sighed. "Stop smiling and go run my tests. Please."

"Mhmm," she said, whisking away. But she didn't stop smiling. 


End file.
